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Wednesday, May 31, 2006

DN Angel is a manga (comic) created by Yukiru Sugisaki. So far there are ten volumes out, an anime, and it runs monthly in ASUKA. Just recently, English translated volumes have been published by Tokyopop. DN Angel is classified as shoujo (girl genre), but it's more of a combination of the two genres. There's not only romance and an emotional story line, but lots of action mixed in. Her artwork has a shounen (boy genre) look to it also.

The story starts off with a 14 year old boy named Daisuke Niwa. Today is his birthday and he finally has enough courage to tell the girl he likes about his feelings. Risa Harada, his crush, though doesn't harbor the same feelings towards him. She promptly tells him that she can't accept his feelings and wishes they could still be friends.

He returns home depressed and heartbroken because of what happened. To make matters worse, he transforms into another person's body. The transformation was triggered by thinking about Risa. Only after the transformation does his family tell them about the Niwa family legacy. This legacy is turning into the legendary phantom thief, Dark-Mousy on their fourteenth birthday. The only way to change back is to steal the St. Maiden's Tears statue, or so they claim. No only that, he finds out that his pet, With, isn't all what he seems. He's actually Dark's partner and serves as his wings.

When trying to get the statue, he meets up with Satoshi Hiwatari, a schoolmate who happens to be the commander in charge of getting Dark. Satoshi pins him to the ground with causes Daisuke to freak out from the prospect of getting caught. This causes a chain reaction which awaken Dark who takes control. They manage to steal the statue and get out unscathed.

Of course this isn't the end for Daisuke. His life only gets more complicated from then on...

Niwa Daisuke. 14 years old, attending Azumano NO.2 Junior High. A pretty normal kid, nice, hard-working, a bit shy around girls.... At least, Daisuke would like to have people believe he's just a normal kid. Even if he couldn't pick locks with a somewhat uneasy skillfulness, or leap over high fences and traverse the obstacle course that is his home, Daisuke would be far from normal. Of course, you probably already know that Daisuke turns into the famous Kaitou thief Dark anyway, so Daisuke's lack of normality is hardly surprising. His mom has been training him up ever since he was a little kid so that he would be ready to enherit that which is the Niwa family "curse" (If you could call turning into a dark-haired bishy with wings a 'curse'...)

But one of Daisuke's big problems is love. That and the fact that one blonde haired-bishy is trying to kill him. He confessed his feeling for Risa, only to get knocked back, and then find out that she's fallen head-over heels for his alter-ego Dark. To make things worse, he starts to like Risa's twin, Riku, and while she does return his feelings, she has less than amicable feelings toward Dark. Ehe, trying to convince her that he and Daisuke are the same person is going to prove a little difficult -_-;... But despite Daisuke's problems he always tries to put on a smile or a brave face, and for all his spiky red-headedness, he's not some hyper genki kid. He has problems and he tries to deal with them as best he can, while not falling into a angsty gloom of despair. In other words, Daisuke is one mature but cute kid~ Vincent rules!

You scored as Suicide. Your death will be suicide. What more can I say? Fact: Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. If you want to know hwo you will commit suicide, take a look at your second highest percentage on the bar graphs.

I will never be tired to use the cliché, “It’s such a small world,” because it’s true. I was very happy that finally I was able to meet the person behind the good morning greetings, arf arf, and meows that I receive everyday. Who could have guessed that I could meet someone so nice? He’s like a blessing to me because I can talk to him about anything.

He’s my big brother… the person that I wished I had but wasn’t fortunate enough to have. He’s very smart and he’s such a people person. He’s just like my best friend who has so many friends. Anywhere he goes there would always be one or more to say hi to him or whatever.

I was glad that he turned out the great person that I thought he would be. I really had fun with him.

Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it!—I only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender oneself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. “Don’t move,” I said, “Don’t take a laxative. I’ll get a doctor.”

“Raccoon,” he mumbled thickly.

“Raccoon?” I said, pausing in my flight.

“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.

I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental. “Why do you want a raccoon coat?”

“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a raccoon coat.”

“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?”

“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?”

“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Campus.

He leaped from the bed and paced the room. “I’ve got to have a raccoon coat,” he said passionately. “I’ve got to!”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!”

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. “Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.

“Anything,” he affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.

I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.

I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of wife in furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.

Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house—a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut—without even getting her fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.

“Do you,” I asked, “have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I mean are you going steady or anything like that?”

“No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates. Why?”

“Is there,” I asked, “any other man for whom she has a particular fondness?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “In other words, if you were out of the picture, the field would be open. Is that right?”

“I guess so. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing , nothing,” I said innocently, and took my suitcase out the closet.

“Where are you going?” asked Petey.

“Home for weekend.” I threw a few things into the bag.

“Listen,” he said, clutching my arm eagerly, “while you’re home, you couldn’t get some money from your old man, could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?”

“I may do better than that,” I said with a mysterious wink and closed my bag and left.

“Look,” I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw open the suitcase and revealed the huge, hairy, gamy object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.

“Holy Toledo!” said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the raccoon coat and then his face. “Holy Toledo!” he repeated fifteen or twenty times.

“Would you like it?” I asked.

“Oh yes!” he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny look came into his eyes. “What do you want for it?”

“Your girl.” I said, mincing no words.

“Polly?” he said in a horrified whisper. “You want Polly?”

“That’s right.”

He flung the coat from him. “Never,” he said stoutly.

I shrugged. “Okay. If you don’t want to be in the swim, I guess it’s your business.”

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away and set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn’t turn away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

“It isn’t as though I was in love with Polly,” he said thickly. “Or going steady or anything like that.”

“That’s right,” I murmured.

“What’s Polly to me, or me to Polly?”

“Not a thing,” said I.

“It’s just been a casual kick—just a few laughs, that’s all.”

“Try on the coat,” said I.

He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mound of dead raccoons. “Fits fine,” he said happily.

I rose from my chair. “Is it a deal?” I asked, extending my hand.

He swallowed. “It’s a deal,” he said and shook my hand.

I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how much work I had to do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner. “Gee, that was a delish dinner,” she said as we left the restaurant. Then I took her to a movie. “Gee, that was a marvy movie,” she said as we left the theatre. And then I took her home. “Gee, I had a sensaysh time,” she said as she bade me good night.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl’s lack of information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information. First she had to be taught to think. This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort.

I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, was taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips. “Poll’,” I said to her when I picked her up on our next date, “tonight we are going over to the Knoll and talk.”

“Oo, terrif,” she replied. One thing I will say for this girl: you would go far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. “What are we going to talk about?” she asked.

“Logic.”

She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it. “Magnif,” she said.

“Logic,” I said, clearing my throat, “is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight.”

“Wow-dow!” she cried, clapping her hands delightedly.

I winced, but went bravely on. “First let us examine the fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter.”

“By all means,” she urged, batting her lashes eagerly.

“Dicto Simpliciter means an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody should exercise.”

“I agree,” said Polly earnestly. “I mean exercise is wonderful. I mean it builds the body and everything.”

“Polly,” I said gently, “the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you see?”

“No,” she confessed. “But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!”

“It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve,” I told her, and when she desisted, I continued. “Next we take up a fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can’t speak French. Petey Bellows can’t speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.”

“Really?” said Polly, amazed. “Nobody?”

I hid my exasperation. “Polly, it’s a fallacy. The generalization is reached too hastily. There are too few instances to support such a conclusion.”

“Know any more fallacies?” she asked breathlessly. “This is more fun than dancing even.”

I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl, absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not persistent. I continued. “Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to this: Let’s not take Bill on our picnic. Every time we take him out with us, it rains.”

“I know somebody just like that,” she exclaimed. “A girl back home—Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take her on a picnic—”

“Polly,” I said sharply, “it’s a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn’t cause the rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she promised contritely. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighed. “No, Polly, I’m not mad.”

“Then tell me some more fallacies.”

“All right. Let’s try Contradictory Premises.”

“Yes, let’s,” she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. “Here’s an example of Contradictory Premises: If God can do anything, can He make a stone so heavy that He won’t be able to lift it?”

“Of course,” she replied promptly.

“But if He can do anything, He can lift the stone,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, then I guess He can’t make the stone.”

“But He can do anything,” I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head. “I’m all confused,” she admitted.

“Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?”

“Tell me more of this keen stuff,” she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch. “I think we’d better call it a night. I’ll take you home now, and you go over all the things you’ve learned. We’ll have another session tomorrow night.”

I deposited her at the girls’ dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a perfectly terrif evening, and I went glumly home to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening; I might as well waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in the extinct crater of her mind a few members still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not a prospect fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.

Seated under the oak the next evening I said, “Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam.”

She quivered with delight.

“Listen closely,” I said. “A man applies for a job. When the boss asks him what his qualifications are, he replies that he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming.”

A tear rolled down each of Polly’s pink cheeks. “Oh, this is awful, awful,” she sobbed.

“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed, “but it’s no argument. The man never answered the boss’s question about his qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss’s sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you understand?”

“Have you got a handkerchief?” she blubbered.

I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes. “Next,” I said in a carefully controlled tone, “we will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example: Students should be allowed to look at their textbooks during examinations. After all, surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn’t students be allowed to look at their textbooks during an examination?”

“There now,” she said enthusiastically, “is the most marvy idea I’ve heard in years.”

“Polly,” I said testily, “the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers, and carpenters aren’t taking a test to see how much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can’t make an analogy between them.”

“Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would not know about radium.”

“True, true,” said Polly, nodding her head “Did you see the movie? Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me.”

“If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment,” I said coldly, “I would like to point out that statement is a fallacy. Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it. Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can’t start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any supportable conclusions from it.”

“They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more pictures,” said Polly, “I hardly ever see him any more.”

One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear. “The next fallacy is called Poisoning the Well.”

“How cute!” she gurgled.

“Two men are having a debate. The first one gets up and says, ‘My opponent is a notorious liar. You can’t believe a word that he is going to say.’ ... Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What’s wrong?”

I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence—the first I had seen—came into her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she said with indignation. “It’s not a bit fair. What chance has the second man got if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?”

“Right!” I cried exultantly. “One hundred per cent right. It’s not fair. The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start ... Polly, I’m proud of you.”

“Pshaws,” she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

“You see, my dear, these things aren’t so hard. All you have to do is concentrate. Think—examine—evaluate. Come now, let’s review everything we have learned.”

“Fire away,” she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I began a long, patient review of all I had told her. Over and over and over again I cited instances, pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first, everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five grueling nights with this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She was worthy of me, at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled children.

It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I decided to acquaint her with my feelings at our very next meeting. The time had come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.

“Polly,” I said when next we sat beneath our oak, “tonight we will not discuss fallacies.”

“Aw, gee,” she said, disappointed.

“My dear,” I said, favoring her with a smile, “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”

“Hasty Generalization,” said Polly brightly.

“I beg your pardon,” said I.

“Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. “My dear,” I said, patting her hand in a tolerant manner, “five dates is plenty. After all, you don’t have to eat a whole cake to know that it’s good.”

“False Analogy,” said Polly promptly. “I’m not a cake. I’m a girl.”

I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the proper word. Then I began:

“Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, the moon and the stars and the constellations of outer space. Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish. I will refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyed hulk.”

There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.

“Ad Misericordiam,” said Polly.

I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I fought back the tide of panic surging through me; at all costs I had to keep cool.

“That’s right. So you do owe me something, don’t you, my dear? If I hadn’t come along you never would have learned about fallacies.”

“Hypothesis Contrary to Fact,” she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow. “Polly,” I croaked, “you mustn’t take all these things so literally. I mean this is just classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don’t have anything to do with life.”

“Dicto Simpliciter,” she said, wagging her finger at me playfully.

That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. “Will you or will you not go steady with me?”

“I will not,” she replied.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go steady with him.”

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand! “The rat!” I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf. “You can’t go with him, Polly. He’s a liar. He’s a cheat. He’s a rat.”

“Poisoning the Well ,” said Polly, “and stop shouting. I think shouting must be a fallacy too.”

With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. “All right,” I said. “You’re a logician. Let’s look at this thing logically. How could you choose Petey Bellows over me? Look at me—a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look at Petey—a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who’ll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Bellows?”

Monday, May 29, 2006

The main goal of everyone is to find happiness… we all want to be happy… and every one deserves to be happy. Different things and different reasons make us happy. For some, power, fame, and wealth give them happiness, or so they believe. To some a simple laugh or smile from the person they really care about could inspire them and keep them going throughout the day. Many would do anything to seek for their happiness, even to the point of hurting other people. Some find their happiness and some don’t. Life is unfair and cruel, not everyone gets a chance in attaining a lived happily ever after ending.

But what is crueler is not knowing what could make you happy. Every one search for happiness but how can you find it when you don’t even know its shape or form? It is like searching for a person in a crowd when you don’t even know his or her face and name.

What makes me happy? I just don’t know. Am I happy? I don’t know. Maybe the thing or someone that could make me happy is already with me but I just don’t know it.

I want to fly. I want to soar high above the skies. I want to feel the wind rushing through my face. I want to go far, far away from all my problems and sorrow. I want to feel the warmth of the sun. I want the numbness and cold to disappear. I want to feel, I want to love. I want to be free from the chains of sorrow.

But there are times that my heart tires out and I lose the will to go on. These are the times that I want to climb the highest mountains and swim the deepest seas. I want to disappear and just fade away from the face of this earth. I want to sleep and never wake up. I want to just cease to exist… because I want to live.

Yes, I’m depressed again… But it’s not really a bad thing. See, I was able to write two posts but they were cut short because I snapped out of my depression. I just wish that I had an internal switching mechanism so that I can just turn my depression on and off when needed. Hay naku… let’s just hope I’ll be depressed again soon so I can write something Hehehe…

Grew up in a small town And when the rain would fall down I'd just stare out my window Dreaming of what could be And if I'd end up happy I would pray

Trying hard to reach out But when I tried to speak out Felt like no one could hear me Wanted to belong here But something felt so wrong here So I'd pray I could break away

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly. I'll do what it takes till I touch the sky. Make a wish, take a chance, Make a change, and break away. Out of the darkness and into the sun. But I won't forget all the ones that I love. I'll take a risk, take a chance, Make a change, and break away

Wanna feel the warm breeze Sleep under a palm tree Feel the rush of the ocean Get onboard a fast train Travel on a jetplane Far away And break away

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly. I'll do what it takes till I touch the sky. Make a wish, take a chance, Make a change, and break away. Out of the darkness and into the sun. But I won't forget all the ones that I love. I'll take a risk, take a chance, Make a change, and break away

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly. Though itâ€™s not easy to tell you goodbye Take a risk, take a chance, Make a change, and break away. Out of the darkness and into the sun. But I won't forget the place I come from I gotta take a risk, take a chance, Make a change, and break away Breakaway Break away

Sunday, May 28, 2006

The idea of an angel of death is millennia old. There are references to an angel who delivers the wrath of God in the Bible, Quran, and other religious texts. Over the centuries, the angel of death evolved from a sometimes unseen supernatural force that decimated cities and armies with fire and brimstone from the sky, to a very personal and one-on-one encounter between a black-cloaked skeleton carrying a large scythe and hourglass, and an unlucky person who is about to lose their life.

It was in the 15th century that the Grim Reaper took on the dark, hooded robe persona. The image evolved from the traditional garb of pallbearers at funerals—the dark robe with a bowed head. Artists took the image to a more horrific level by making the person under the robe either a rotting corpse or skeleton.

Soldiers in the battlefield, the elderly in nursing homes, sick people in hospitals, and people from all walks of life have reported seeing a dark, shadowy figure near the scene of death. Beating the death angel is not just the ambition of Dr. Frankenstein; ordinary people have fought to overcome the inevitable that is waiting for us all.

This week, Sharon Moritz of Chicago, Illinois reported an encounter she had back in 1966.

Dear Ghostvillage:

In 1966, my daughter was only about six months old, and my husband and I were living with his parents at the time. On one particular morning, he had left for work and I decided to lie on the couch until my baby woke up. I left the door to the upstairs open, as well as our bedroom door, so I could hear her when she awoke. I soon fell asleep on the couch.

Shortly after I fell asleep, something woke me. As I opened my eyes and looked up, I saw what appeared to be someone wearing a black, hooded robe going toward the stairs. I was frozen with horror. I watched the figure turn and go upstairs. At this point I was freaking out—my baby is up there. I got up and started running toward the stairs, and I yelled for my mother-in-law to help. My mother-in-law was sleeping in the room off of the dining room, and she jumped out of bed to find out what I was yelling about. When I got upstairs and went into the nursery, my baby was lying there limp with her eyes rolling in the back of her head. I grabbed her and ran downstairs. She was lifeless. We put 7UP soda in her bottle and forced it into her and left for the hospital.

By the time we reached the doctor, she was okay. No one could explain what had happened. When they looked at her at the hospital, they thought we were nuts. She was laughing and having a great time getting all of the attention. Had I beaten the angel of death? Or was my daughter in trouble and that spirit was warning me? Whatever it was, thank God I still have my daughter. -S.M.

The Grim Reaper gets a bad rap. Simply by the nature of his job he is perceived as dark and evil. The reality is, though many times death seems unfair, it is neither good nor evil—it’s simply a fact of life, like the sun. To many, the sun isn’t evil; it provides warmth, light, and gives our plants/food source a chance to grow. But, if you were starving because of a drought, or stuck in a desert with no water, the sun is definitely not your friend. Perspective is everything.

Almost every culture has a deliverer of death, but in some cases the Grim Reaper is present to convince the dying to hold on, or to warn the living that a loved one needs help and it isn’t their time. Sharon’s situation reminds me of another case I read about where a New York man saw a robed skeleton standing next to him as he sat on the couch. The skeleton told the man that his wife had just taken an overdose, and then he vanished through the wall. The man went to the bathroom to find his wife unconscious on the floor. He brought her to the hospital where she made a full recovery.

Death is very difficult for many of us to cope with. The angel of death, or Grim Reaper, allows us to embody the concept into a tangible creature—a creature that can help a person if it isn’t their time, or maybe even be beaten at his own game.

I wonder what the hell is wrong with Smart! It just makes me so mad! Like I still have load and I'm currently enrolled in their unlimited text promo and then all of the sudden I can't text because there's something wrong with the network as my stupid phone keeps on flashing. I am quite dissapointed because look at the time I lost that I could have used to send text messages to people.

I haven't made use of the unlimited text servidce to the fullest! Grr! These are the times that I wished I was a Globe user! If I still can't send text messages tomorrow when I wake up, I have to call Smart and report to them hpw they suck! hehehe...

It really felt good to know that my friend wasn't mad at me at all and it was all a bad case of sending the wrong text message to the wrong person. At least I don't have to go berserk thinking over all the possible things that I could have done to make that person angry at me. Communication is really such an essential tool to gain peace and unity... hehehe.... I feel like I'm answering a beauty pageant question... I wish for world peace, thank you... hehehe...

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Wonder what's wrong with friendster? Why can't I add more pics? As in it is so annoying! I only have around 30 something pics and I already exceeded my qouta?! Where is justice!?

Speaking of justice ad friendster... i wonder who the person behind the "GeorgySj" account is. What he/she said to Cheenee was just plain wrong and outrageous! If I know who this person is I personally would flame her/him to death! Hahaha! That is just so typical of cowards to hide behind a veil of anonymousy and then shoot off words that doesn't even make sense!

It really sucks when someone you care about suddenly becomes angry or turn on the "i don't want to talk to you mode" just because you said one stupid line that you don't even mean. Communication is one difficult skill that I think I still need to master.

I should learn to know when my simple hoarsing around starts to offend people. I thought I was sensitive of other's feelings but it turns out that I'm only sensitive with how people relate to me...

I don't want anyone to be mad at me and I don't want to be angry at anyone... but certain things happen...

I don't want to say good-bye to this person... I hope that everything wil work out for the best.

Lately, I have found taking pictures of my self so enjoyable hehehe... It's not that I think I look so good and all but I just love taking pictures of my self and looking at my self in the mirror... it happens so often that it's starting to freak me a little bit... hehehe.

I guess it all started when someone told me that I had a makings of a model and it really boosted my self confidence and ego, and maybe a little too much. hahaha! I feel so weird talking about these things. But I am being productive. Being vain only becomes a sinwhen you over do it right? Like you keep looking at the mirror and you spend so much time at making your self look good that you lose time to do more important things like studying or helping your parents or something, right?

Do you know the person I hate the most? My brother! Ooh how I want to kill him sometimes! He just gets on my nerves! It's like as if his sole purpose in this world is to ruin my life! Grr! I don't know why we don't get along and Gid knows that I have tried all my best to be close to him or even form this certain respect with one another... but who could respect that kind of person with such a rotten attitude! Like thw world does not revolve around you you peice of Sh*t! Aarg!!!

But I'm just wasting my time on such a nonesense thing... yeah this is what we should all do to people who gives us crap all the time! We should just ignore them and just get a long with our lives because unlike them we have lives to live and they merely exist in their sad made-believe world where they rule everything. Why waste our time on such idiotic people? Why am I wasting my time on this moron anyway? I call it quits! I don't give a damn about this ex-brother of mine! Grr!

Yey! Finally I have done something worthwhile during my free time! It took me the whole day to finish re-lay-outing my friendster profile and my blogger skin but I'm quite satisfied with my accomplishment hehehe... Please don't mind the pictures thatI have placed here, instead of using "imageshack" I used blogger to store my pics hehehe...

You guys should see my new profile at friendster, http://www.friendster.com/vincentb88! And I'm so glad that I've finally figured out how to make the links thing so you guys can check out my favorite websites and blogs of my friends.

It's 1:57 in the morning and I am already so tired! But I have to finish these things now because I have rivals in using the computer tomorrow hehehe... it's a sunday tomorrow so I can sleep as long as I can!

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

I really like this picture... I love angels... I want to be one hehehe... It sure is great if I have angel wings... If I wake up one morning with wings sprouting on my back, that would at first shock me to the point of losing my sanity but sooner or later I'll get over it and realize that I am a pretty cute angel hehehe....Vincent rules!

Lampara (Lamp): Just thought of being melo-dramatic... It's a sign of hope, even through the darkness, light can still shine and promises us a bright future. Hope is what keeps us going... hope is always there... hope is what we all need... hope can never be taken away from us... but hoping is not enough, we must also do something for hope to materialize into something that we seek...Vincent rules!

Tech Support:No problem, Love will gradually erase Past Hurt from your current operating system. It may remain in your permanent memory but it will no longer disrupt other programs. Love will eventually override Low Self-Esteem with a module of its own called High Self-Esteem. However, you have to completely turn off Grudge and Resentment. Those programs prevent Love from being properly installed. Can you turn those off ?

Customer:I don't know how to turn them off. Can you tell me how?

Tech Support:With pleasure. Go to your start menu and invoke Forgiveness. Do this as many times as necessary until Grudge and Resentment have been completely erased.

Customer:Okay, done! Love has started installing itself. Is that normal?

Tech Support:Yes, but remember that you have only the base program. You need to begin connecting to other Hearts in order to get the upgrades.

Customer:Oops! I have an error message already. It says, "Error - Program not run on external components." What should I do?

Tech Support:Don't worry. It means that the Love program is set up to run on Internal Hearts, but has not yet been run on your Heart. In non-technical terms, it simply means you have toLove yourself before ! you can Love others.

Customer:So, what should I do?

Tech Support:Pull down Self-Acceptance; then click on the following files: Forgive-Self; Realize Your Worth; and Acknowledge your Limitations.

Customer:Okay, done.

Tech Support: Now, copy them to the "My Heart" directory. The system will overwrite any conflicting files and begin patching faulty programming. Also, you need to delete Verbose Self-Criticism from all directories and empty your Recycle Bin to make sure it is completely gone and never comes back.

Customer:Got it. Hey! My heart is filling up with new files. Smile is playing on my monitor and Peace and Contentment are copying themselves all over My Heart. Is this normal?

Tech Support:Sometimes. For others it takes awhile, but eventually everything gets it at the proper time. So Love is installed and running. One more thing before we hang up. Love isFreeware. Be sure to give it and its various modules to everyone you meet. They will in turn share it with others and return some cool modules back to you.

IT WAS ONLY FOR A SHORT TIME THAT I WAS ABLE TO KNOW EDGAR. WELL, IN CASE YOU WANT HIM TO BE YOUR FRIEND, THERE ARE ACTUALLY 10 THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT HIM. For your info, this has been decided by the point of view of his classmates

he is a person who is very moody. I mean, HE CAN CHANGE HIS MOODSALL THE TIME.

He isaperson who carries a smile on his face making you smile also. BUT SOMETIMES, he do it so often that it kinda start a trigger in your thinking.

He is very talkative…He can argue with anything,anytime,anywhere!!! He can make small problems to big one and vice versa…c”,)

He is a very responsible man to the point of being perfectionist. He always want tobe in control of the situation even if it is beyond his power.

but most importantly , he is a good friend. You can lean on to him whenever you want BUT DON’T EXPECT ANY SYMPATHY.

HE LOVES TO BE A BEADDLE

HE LOVES TO DRINK Orbitz

in case you want to bring him food or have lunch with him… don’t be surprise if you see him always eating MEAT. LIKE HOTDOG, CHICKEN, CHICKEN AND GUESS WHAT,,,,,,,,,CHICKEN

HE LOVES MUSIC.ANY MUSIC

HE ALWAYS QUESTION THINGS LIKE , Do you believe in God? Why do you belive in him. Its sometimes very ANNNNOYYINHG. ITS LIKE IT NEVER ENDS. HE QUESTIONS ONE AND THEN HE QUESTIONS AB